His brows arched high over eyes sparkling in fury. “You think this is small?”

“Well, obviously not the kidnapping part,” I conceded, shrugging. “But the phone calls were nothing, at least as far as I knew. And until I knew Andrew was involved in the rest of this, he was none of your business.”

A growl rumbled through the room, extraordinarily low and gravelly.

His mouth never moved, but I knew it was

Marc. I’d hurt his feelings, and his pride. And I’d pissed him off.

Sighing in defeat, I glanced down at my hands, where they lay in my lap.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about my nose in your business anymore.”

Movement blurred on the right edge of my vision. I turned toward it instinctively. Marc was gone. I whirled in my seat to see him disappear into the hall, his shirt a black smear passing out of sight beyond the door frame.

I was on my feet in an instant, running after him. My father appeared in front of the door out of nowhere, blocking my path. I ducked to dodge him. One iron-hard arm slid around my waist. He held me back. I kicked and fought, my legs flailing in midair. “I have to tell him I’m—”

“Let him go, Faythe. He didn’t mean it. Give him some time and he’l get over it.”

“No!”

“Yes.” And that was that. My father tucked me under one arm, in the most undignified position I could imagine.

He kicked the door shut hard enough to make it rattle in the frame, then hauled me back to the smal grouping of furniture, where Michael waited, his eyes wide with astonishment.

My father set me on my feet on the rug and gestured for me to sit on the couch.

I sat. What else could I do?

For a moment, he sipped from his whiskey, while my brother watched me in silence. Then, finally, my father opened his mouth…only to take another drink from his glass. Not a sip this time—a drink. More like a gulp. When he met my eyes again, determination was carved into the firm line of his mouth. “I know you’re upset, but we have to go on with this. I have to ask you some questions. Are you ready?”

I nodded. Of course I was ready. I was an adult who’d had a fight with her boyfriend, not a traumatized child.

“Did you ever Shift in front of Andrew, or have any contact with him at al in cat form?”

My jaw dropped. Literally. My mouth hung open, and I stared at my father like a drooling idiot, stunned into silence by a question so serious and insulting it bruised not just my pride, but my heart. I’d expected a real bitch of a question, but not that. Never that.

My father was practically accusing me of infecting Andrew. Of committing a capital crime—one of the most serious we recognized. If I admitted guilt, the Council’s law required him to have me put to death.

Not locked up. Not declawed. Not put on display in front of my fellow werecats with a scarlet A on my chest.

Executed.

How could he even entertain such a thought? My shock gave way to anger that my own father could know so little about me. That he could accuse me of infecting someone. Anyone. Much less someone I’d once cared about.

“Fuck you!” I shouted, jumping to my feet as outrage surged through my veins, a thousand times hotter than blood.

My father—no, my Alpha—nodded to Michael, and he stood calmly, crossing thick arms over a broad chest. “Sit down,” Michael said. He didn’t tell me to watch my language, which said more than I could ever have hoped for.

I hesitated, standing only because sitting would be admitting defeat, no matter how minor.

“Sit, Faythe, and rein in your temper,” my father said. He drained the last of the whiskey from his glass and leaned forward to set it on the table at my end of the couch. When he leaned back, his eyes were calm, and still determined.

“I have to ask. You know that. So just answer the question.”

“Fine, but I’m not going to sit.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Damn it. Standing with his permission didn’t satisfy my massive need to piss him off in return for insulting me. Stupid reverse psychology. I sank back onto the couch, and Michael followed my lead.

“Hell no, I never Shifted in front of Andrew. And he never saw me in cat form, either. To my knowledge, no human has ever seen…” My words trailed off as I realized I’d been about to lie. Accidentally, of course, but that wouldn’t matter.

A human had seen me in cat form once. A hunter, three months earlier. Nothing had come of it, other than a series of Bigfoot-esque news reports on the local stations, but I wasn’t about to bring up something I hadn’t been accused of. No sense borrowing trouble, right? Besides, some of the guys would get into trouble along with me. Ethan, Jace, and Parker had all promised Marc they wouldn’t tell.

“No, he never saw me in cat form,” I finished weakly, meeting my father’s gaze to lend credibility to my statement and distract him from what I’d almost said.

His eyes narrowed, but if he suspected anything, he’d either decided to let it go, or to address it later, because he didn’t challenge my statement. “To your knowledge, has Andrew ever come into contact with another werecat?”

“Yes,” I said, without thinking. The answer seemed pretty clear to me, but based on Michael’s surprised expression, my phrasing needed serious work. “He’s obviously come into contact with a cat,” I amended.

“Unless the ‘virus’ is now airborne, in which case public panic seems inevitable.”